


Fröhliche Weihnachten

by EnchantressEmily



Category: Widdershins (Webcomic)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnchantressEmily/pseuds/EnchantressEmily
Summary: Mal and Wolfe celebrate Christmas together for the first time.
Relationships: Jack O'Malley & Heinrich Wolfe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Fröhliche Weihnachten

Mal wondered again why he had let Wolfe talk him into this. They still had some money left from the last town; they would probably have been able to get food and a place to sleep without doing more busking. Even if the inn rooms were too expensive, they had passed one or two big, solid-looking barns outside the town that would have served perfectly well as a place to get out of the snow.

But instead here he was, sitting beside Wolfe’s open violin case at the edge of a crowded square, surrounded by a cacophony of mingled excitement and stress that made his head pound. Even the sweet notes of the violin – what had Wolfe called the tune? _Stille Nacht_? – only did so much to cut through the din.

Mal glanced up at Wolfe, who had his eyes closed, swaying gently from side to side in time with the music. All right, he knew perfectly well how he had gotten into this.

“A _Weihnachtsmarkt_ , Mal!“ Wolfe had said, his eyes shining and his spirit brighter than ever with delight. “I have not been to one since I was a child. We must go!”

And no matter how bad a headache it gave him, there was nothing he could refuse Wolfe when he looked like that. Not, of course, that he would ever admit as much to Wolfe himself; he wasn’t _that_ soppy yet. At least they were accumulating plenty of coins in the violin case; the passers-by were in a festive mood and inclined to be generous.

Mal idly stroked the skinny cat that had wandered over to bat at the trailing ends of his ragged scarf. He liked cats, especially the strays; they were scrappy and aloof and tended to stare at things no one else could see, just like him.

Wolfe finished a song and turned to smile at him. “Well, my friend, shall we walk around the market for a time before seeking lodgings? I should like to show you a German Christmas.”

“S’fine by me,” Mal said, trying to sound offhand. He scooped the coins from the violin case into his pocket and climbed to his feet. “Not like I got anywhere else t’ be.”

They joined the stream of people that flowed around the perimeter of the square, between the ranks of stalls selling food and trinkets. Mal kept to the edge of the crowd as much as possible, with his shoulders hunched and his head down; Wolfe walked beside him, his big frame and soaring spirit both acting as bulwarks shielding Mal from the press of the throng. It had become a familiar pattern in the months that they had been traveling together.

As they walked, Wolfe eagerly pointed out things around them. “Look, Mal, the nutcrackers! My _Grossvater_ had one much like those, and when I was very small I thought that it resembled him… Do you smell the mulled wine? There is no scent like it anywhere else… Ah, the church choir is singing! The harmonies are most beautiful, are they not?”

Mal didn’t pay much attention to the words; his eyes were on the space above his friend’s head. Wolfe’s spirit radiated a childlike excitement, threaded with the warmth of nostalgia and amplified by his pleasure in sharing it all with Mal. Mal had to swallow an unexpected lump in his throat. The last time he had had anyone to share Christmas with – the last time anyone had wanted to share their Christmas with him – was when Ma was alive.

He nodded and made acknowledging noises as Wolfe pointed here and there, but the bustling market seemed far less real and present than that glowing spirit, the deep Prussian-accented voice, the warm, steadying hand on his back as Wolfe steered him past a knot of rowdy merrymakers.

He should buy Wolfe a Christmas present, Mal thought suddenly. He was in the middle of a market with money in his pocket; there could hardly be a better opportunity. But how was he to do it without Wolfe seeing?

As they stood in a quiet corner eating the soft gingerbread biscuits that Wolfe called _Lebkuchen_ – food was mostly just fuel to Mal, but he had to admit that they tasted as good as Wolfe had promised – Mal felt a nudge on his shin. He glanced down and found that the cat had followed them.

“A friend of yours, Mal?” Wolfe asked, smiling.

“Mmph,” Mal muttered, a little embarrassed. “Dunno why she’s taggin’ after me.”

“Perhaps she simply likes you,” Wolfe said, bending down and offering the cat his hand. She considered it, then touched her nose to his fingertips. “She seems a fine creature, if a little too thin.”

Mal shrugged. “Strays in’t pretty. Livin’ rough takes it out of ye.”

“Perhaps, but this does not mean that they do not possess other qualities,” Wolfe said. He was crouched on his heels, scratching the cat’s head between her ragged ears, and he tilted his head to flash a smile up at Mal. “Qualities that make them very much worth befriending, yes?”

They weren’t just talking about the cat anymore, Mal realized. He felt himself flushing and hoped it wasn’t visible.

As Wolfe rose to his feet again, a man in a mask strolled by, calling out something in German to the crowd in general. Mal couldn’t follow it, but it made Wolfe brighten. “There is a pageant beginning across the square!” he exclaimed. “This is very good luck that we are here at the right time. Come, let us – oh.” He checked himself and turned to look at Mal, his spirit suddenly drooping a little. “But standing among so many in the audience will be too much, will it not?”

“Nah, ye go,” Mal said quickly. He couldn’t stand to see Wolfe disappointed – and besides, this was a perfect chance to look for a present. “I’ll wait fer ye here. Come an’ find me when yer done.”

“You are sure, my friend?” Wolfe asked, frowning in concern. “You will be all right waiting alone?”

“’Course. This’s a nice quiet spot.” Mal sat down and leaned against the side of a stall, stretching out his legs with elaborate casualness. The cat poked her head forward to sniff his coat sleeve. “I’ll be fine.”

Wolfe hesitated a moment longer, then capitulated. “Very well. I will return as soon as the pageant is finished.”

Mal waited until Wolfe was out of sight, then scrambled back to his feet. “I got somethin’ t’ do,” he told the cat, who was giving him a reproachful stare. “Ye can come or not, I don’t care.”

He started back the way they had come, looking more closely at the stalls and their proprietors. Some of the people selling things had that sly tinge to their spirits that meant they would try to cheat you; it was entertaining to outwit someone like that when he was playing cards, but he didn’t feel like dealing with it right now.

Eventually he settled on a stall with a display of carved wooden trinkets, tended by an old woman with a spirit as round and comfortable as herself. “ _Guten Tag_ ,” she said, smiling at him.

“ _Guten Tag_ ,” Mal answered. “Uhh… _sprechen sie Englisch_?” His German was better than it had been, but not up to anything too complicated; fortunately Wolfe had made sure to teach him that phrase early on.

“ _Ein bisschen_ ,” the woman replied apologetically, tilting a hand back and forth. “A little. But look, please.” She gestured invitingly at the things laid out on the counter.

Mal studied them carefully. Ornaments to hang on a Christmas tree were pointless when you didn’t even have a house, and he couldn’t see Wolfe being interested in one of the funny little incense smokers. Wolfe had commented on the nutcrackers, though; would he like one of those?

Most of them were too big to carry around easily, and Mal wasn’t entirely comfortable with the way they were all painted to look like soldiers, but there were a few that were small enough to fit in his hand. One of these, whether on purpose or due to a slip of the painter’s brush, looked somehow less fierce than the others. If wooden toys had spirits, Mal thought this one’s might be gentle and calming.

“How much?” he asked the old woman, holding it out.

The sum she named was low, to Mal’s relief; he didn’t want to put too big a hole in their funds, especially since they still needed to purchase a meal and somewhere to sleep that night. He carefully counted out the coins, and the woman wrapped the little nutcracker in paper.

“For your _Geliebte_?” she asked, smiling. “ _Der Violinist_?”

She must have seen them earlier when Wolfe was playing, Mal thought. “Aye, it’s –” He broke off abruptly as the other word she had used finally registered. It was one he recognized; he had heard Wolfe use it sometimes during an especially serious flirtation.

“Hang on, it in’t like that!” he protested, his face going hot. “We – I don’t – he’s my – my –” He sputtered to a stop. He hadn’t even been able to put words to his feelings about Wolfe in the privacy of his own head; how was he supposed to explain them to someone who probably didn’t understand more than a few words of what he was saying?

The old woman reached across the counter and patted his hand, making him flinch in surprise. “Is good,” she said. “Is good to love.”

Mal gave up. “ _Ja_ ,” he muttered. “ _Danke_.”

By the time Mal made it back to where Wolfe had left him, he had a splitting headache. He wasn’t used to navigating crowds alone anymore, and it seemed harder than he remembered. He sat down and let his head drop forward, pressing the heels of his hands into his temples.

After a little while the cat reappeared from somewhere and sat with her back pointedly toward him, washing a paw. Mal didn’t have the energy to placate her.

It seemed a long time before Wolfe returned, and when he did, the sight of him almost made Mal forget his headache. His spirit swirled with the colors of sadness, and the spirit-violinist wasn’t playing.

“What’s th’ matter?” Mal demanded bluntly, sitting up.

Wolfe smiled a little, but his spirit remained downcast. “I cannot hide anything from you, can I, my friend? It is nothing of importance. Only… the last time I attended a _Weihnachtsmarkt_ pageant, my parents were with me, and I find myself wishing that they were here still.”

Ma’s face flashed through Mal’s mind, and he flinched and pushed the image away. “How long’s it till Christmas?” he asked abruptly. He wasn’t much good at keeping track of days, but Wolfe was sure to know.

Wolfe blinked at the change in subject, but answered readily, “Christmas Eve is two days away. This is why the market is so busy, you understand.”

Mal took a deep breath. “Then… s’pose we stay here another few days? Ye said ye wanted t’ show me a German Christmas. Let’s find someplace to stay an’ do it proper.”

The effect of this was all he had hoped. Wolfe’s spirit soared skyward again, the sad colors giving way to the brighter shades of pleasure and enthusiasm. “That is a splendid notion, Mal! We shall find an inn or tavern that does not cost too much and take a room there. It will be pleasant to remain in one place for a time, will it not?” He held out a hand to pull Mal to his feet. “In fact, let us look for such an inn now. I think you need some rest and quiet, yes?”

The best they were able to manage for lodgings was a narrow room on the upper floor of a small, plain inn; there was only one bed, but fortunately it was big enough to share without either of them rolling out in the night. Mal found it oddly reassuring to feel Wolfe’s solid warmth beside him and hear his slow breathing, like the sound of gentle waves on the seashore.

Their second day passed much like the first; Wolfe spent several more hours playing at the market, hoping to make up for the money they were spending at the inn, and they walked around the town for a while. The cat from the day before turned up once or twice, accompanying them briefly before going off about her own business.

Mal joined a card game in the inn’s public room that evening, while Wolfe happily flirted with the barmaid, but only won a few hands; he was trying to be more cautious than usual, since getting in a brawl would likely result in their being thrown out. He didn’t intend to mess up Wolfe’s Christmas if he could help it.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and the market was busier than ever. “This evening is the time when families will decorate the _Tannenbaum_ – the tree – and give one another gifts,” Wolfe said. “Tomorrow is the feast with the roast goose, but tonight is the heart of Christmas.”

Mal thought of the little nutcracker, which rode, securely wrapped, in the pocket of his coat. Would Wolfe like it, or think it was silly?

They found a new spot at the edge of the market for a stint of busking, but Mal only lasted two songs before the crowds of last-minute shoppers and the relentless battering of their heightened emotions – too much for even Wolfe’s music to counteract – forced him to retreat.

“Shall I come back to the inn with you?” Wolfe asked anxiously as Mal stumbled, wincing, to his feet from where he had been sitting.

“Nah,” Mal muttered. “Ye stay here. No sense in me spoilin’ things fer both of us.” He turned away without waiting to see Wolfe’s reaction.

Back in their room at the inn, Mal flopped onto the bed and buried his throbbing head under the pillow. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He had wanted to cheer Wolfe up by giving him as close to a normal Christmas as possible, but how could he do that when he was nothing like normal himself? Maybe he would just stay in here and let Wolfe go out and enjoy the festivities.

A few hours later, familiar footsteps on the stairs woke Mal from a doze. Wolfe entered with two steaming plates of food.

“The inn has made a very fine Christmas Eve dinner for those people who cannot be at home during the holiday,” he said, smiling. “Are you feeling better, Mal?”

“Sorta,” Mal said, sitting up. His headache still lingered, but Wolfe’s presence was already helping. He took one of the plates and began eating the potatoes and sausage.

Wolfe sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. “I have an idea for the evening,” he said between bites of his own meal. “After we have eaten, perhaps we might walk about the streets to see the decorations. It is growing dark, and most people will be indoors beginning their celebrations.”

He looked more closely at Mal’s face, then put down his fork to lay his hand over Mal’s. “You are not ‘spoiling things’ for me, my friend, whatever you may think,” he said gently. “Perhaps we cannot shop at the market or go to a Christmas concert together, but I would rather spend this Christmas in quiet with you than attend the finest celebration.”

Mal’s eyes flicked up to Wolfe’s spirit – yes, he meant every word of what he had just said – then dropped to his own feet in their much-mended socks. “Aye, let’s go fer a walk,” he said gruffly after a moment. “Been sittin’ around too long anyways.”

The streets were dark and quiet, but candlelight glowed in most of the windows. Mal caught glimpses of people inside their homes: decorating tall evergreens, opening presents, laughing together. It was a world more foreign to him than any country he had traveled to.

As they walked, Wolfe told stories of his childhood Christmases with his parents and grandparents and, later, his uncle. After a while Mal slowly, haltingly, began to offer his own stories in return – how he and Ma were never in the same place twice at Christmastime, but she always made sure he had some kind of special treat on Christmas morning; how she had taught him an Irish Christmas song from her own childhood that they sang loudly as their cart rattled along the snowy roads. He had never told Wolfe much about Ma, but it felt right to do it now. Wolfe listened and smiled and wrapped a warm arm around Mal’s shoulders.

As they turned to make their way back to the inn, Wolfe paused by the gate of a large house flanked by fir trees. Pulling out his pocketknife, he cut a small branch from the nearest tree. “There,” he said. “Now we shall have a _Tannenbaum_ of our own.”

In their room, Wolfe wedged the branch into a crack between floorboards so that it stood more or less upright, then sat back on his heels and regarded it, smiling. Its pungent scent seemed to fill the little room.

 _Tree_ , Mal thought. _Gifts_. Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, he took the nutcracker from his pocket and thrust it at Wolfe. “Got this fer ye,” he mumbled. “’Appy Christmas an’ all that.”

Wolfe unwrapped the paper, and his spirit flashed bright with surprise and happiness. “Mal, my friend, this is wonderful!” he exclaimed. He held the nutcracker up, turning it this way and that, and for just a moment Mal could see what he must have looked like as a little boy. “I shall keep it in my violin case so that it will not be damaged, and it shall always remind me of this Christmas.”

He got to his feet and opened the bag where he carried his spare clothes and sketchbook, producing a soft, flat parcel, which he handed to Mal. “And this is for you. _Fröhliche Weihnachten_ , my friend. ”

Mal was startled; he hadn’t expected Wolfe to get him anything, although of course he should have. This was Wolfe, after all. He undid the parcel and found a knitted wool scarf.

“Your old one is worn thin, and the days are cold now,” Wolfe explained. “This will keep you warm as we travel.”

Mal held the scarf in his hands, swallowing hard. How long had it been since someone had worried about how warm he was? “Thanks,” he managed at last. “What color’s it?”

“Red,” Wolfe answered. “I thought that it would look well with your dark hair.”

“Have t’ take yer word fer that,” Mal said, shrugging. He took off his old scarf and wrapped the new one around his neck. It did feel much warmer, soft and thick. “How’s it look?”

“ _Sehr gut_ ,” Wolfe said, smiling. He reached out and adjusted the scarf to wrap more snugly.

Mal thought briefly of the old woman who had sold him the nutcracker. She’d gotten the wrong end of the stick, but she was right about one thing: no matter what you called it, it was good to care about someone and know that they cared about you.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the scarf Wolfe gives Mal is the one he's wearing in No Rest for the Wicked and Green-Eyed Monster!


End file.
